


Shades

by PandaInTheStars



Category: Lucifer (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Minor Character Death, Misgendering, Possible Spoilers for Season 4, Post-Season/Series 03 Finale, Transphobia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-12
Updated: 2018-12-17
Packaged: 2019-09-16 16:05:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 8,869
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16957149
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PandaInTheStars/pseuds/PandaInTheStars
Summary: *POSSIBLE SPOILERS FOR SEASON 4!!!!!!*"Lucifer stares at himself in the mirror, eyes fixed on his reflection. On his black sclera and crimson irises. They won’t go away. He knows. He knows this is his choice. Somehow a reflection of his own subconscious made real and physical. He’s doing this to himself. That’s how it works. He knows that now. So why won’t it go away? He doesn’t want this. Why won’t it stop?"





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> First Lucifer fic! Eesh.
> 
> Gonna give the spoiler warning again. This story is based off of two BTS photos from season 4. I have no idea how season 4 is going to play out, but my imagination is running wild based off of the BTS content and the hiatus is killing me.

It isn’t going away.

Lucifer stares at himself in the mirror, eyes fixed on his reflection. On his black sclera and crimson irises. They won’t go away. He knows. He _knows_ this is his choice. Somehow a reflection of his own subconscious made real and physical. He’s doing this to himself. That’s how it works. He knows that now. So why won’t it go away? He doesn’t want this. Why won’t it stop?

He drops his gaze to his hands, which have been red and blistered for a few days now. At first, he thought it was a rash (the Devil doesn’t get rashes), but then the all-too-familiar blackened skin and deep, running scars had begun to reveal themselves, creeping their way up his fingers. He couldn’t stop it then, either, and so had resorted to wearing shirts and jackets he was sure wouldn’t ride up his arms and thin black gloves.

If anyone had noticed the gloves at the precinct, they didn’t say anything. It’s not the oddest clothing choice in the world, and Lucifer is already well-known for his ostentatious sartorial selections.

But his eyes are different. He can’t walk into work with a blindfold on. Can’t wear some kind of helmet. Contact lenses! His mind supplies the thought and for a moment he’s blissfully relieved. But then his stomach drops as he realizes that the average colored contacts won’t disguise his black sclera. Maybe there are some that do, but he doesn’t have any and he’s supposed to be at the precinct in half an hour.

Sweat starts to bead at his brow. He could call in sick. There _is_ something wrong with him. He could do it without lying. Except – he’s never called in sick. And though most of his colleagues probably wouldn’t raise an eyebrow, wouldn’t care that the normally vibrantly healthy civilian consultant had finally caught the seasonal cold, the Detective would. The Detective would notice.

Because the Detective – because Chloe _knows_.

She’s known for a while now. Several months. The first month he didn’t see her at all. They were both officially on administrative leave as the investigation into Pierce-the-Sinnerman and Pierce-the-recently-deceased was taken out of their hands. That was as well. It took him a whole week to wrangle his glamour into something human-looking enough to perform most of his duties at Lux, and then another to perfect it again.

He hadn’t dared to contact the Detective. He hadn’t been able to interpret her reaction at the loft. Was she shocked? Obviously. Frightened? Disgusted? Probably. But the whine of encroaching police sirens meant that it was his cue to disappear in a flurry of broken wings. There wasn’t more time to interpret her reaction. And then her reaction became like Schrodinger’s cat – if he didn’t open the box, he couldn’t know what it was, couldn’t know that she feared him, hated him, wanted him cut like a cancer from her life.

The first day back at work after they had both been reinstated was… tense. She didn’t touch him. There were no pats on the arm or the back. Not even any gentle slaps or elbows in the ribs when he attempted to employ his usual brand of humor. She didn’t look him in the eyes much.

But she also hadn’t avoided him. Not really. She talked to him about the current case and he talked back, providing input. A flower of hope bloomed in him. He refrained from drawing attention to his more supernatural side, and she, surprisingly, didn’t ask him any questions about it. Was this how it would be? A holding pattern. She would keep him in her life as she always had, and he simply needed to hide the parts of himself that were too distressing. A deal, of sorts, though it had never been struck out loud. Lucifer was good with deals. He could do this.

Until he couldn’t. Can’t.

He can’t make it go away.

He opens and closes the drawers of his vanity with enough strength to rattle the frame, desperate for something, _anything_ , that will help with his current situation. And then finally, he sees them.

A pair of dark sunglasses.

It’s the best possible solution for the timeframe he has. He slips them on and – good, they’re dark enough to hide his sclera and he has enough control to keep his irises to a dull red, so they don’t burn through regardless.

It will have to do.

This will be a little harder to hide than the gloves. Gloves are one thing, but wearing sunglasses indoors is definitely weird, even for him. But he’ll think of something. He’s very good at skirting the truth so sharply that he cuts himself.

Most importantly, he can’t break the implicit deal he has with the Detective. Things have been going well, if not ideally. He can’t jeopardize that now. So what if they haven’t talked about their kiss? Or about any of the other dramatic events that have shaped their lives recently. He’s allowed to walk beside her, talk to her, smile at her, exist in her space and her circle. Surely that is enough. Surely that is more than he could ever hope for.

He sniffs and pulls on the gloves. Draws his sleeves down and ensures the cuffs are tight and won’t move. Puts on his jacket.

He can do this. Easily. And he’s sure he’ll figure out a way to make his offending features go away soon. After all, he’s the one in control. He knows that now. Who cares that he can’t manifest his wings anymore? He never wanted the bloody things anyway. And who cares if he can feel his glamour retreating slowly but steadily up his lower arms? He’ll figure it out. It’s only a matter of time.

He looks at himself one last time in the mirror. There. He looks human. Lucifer Morningstar, Detective Chloe Decker’s partner and civilian consultant. Ready to fight crime and punish bad guys.

The Detective will never suspect a thing.


	2. Chapter 2

“Nice shades, man,” is what Daniel says when Lucifer steps off the stairs and onto the precinct’s floor. “You go to the optometrist? I hate when they put that stuff in your eyes. Stings and everything’s so bright. Thinking about getting glasses?”

Lucifer blinks at him. (Daniel doesn’t know this.) He’s a little put out. Okay, so he’s wearing sunglasses indoors. He’s not the first person in the world to do so. Surely it doesn’t require calling out the moment he enters a room.

“No,” is all he says, brushing past Daniel and heading towards the Detective’s desk. He completely misses Daniel rolling his own eyes in a ‘what can you do?’ manner.

The Detective isn’t here yet, so Lucifer seats himself at her desk. He pulls out their current case file and lays it out in front of him. He’s actually not half bad at investigative work these days. He smiles a little. He’s had a good teacher. And besides, if he can talk about the case he can talk with Chloe. Work is definitely a safe topic.

Lucifer has good vision. Very, _very_ good vision, but the sunglasses do obscure it. It’s a little difficult to read some of the hand-written portions of the file, but he manages.

The victim is Allison James McKenzie. She turned 18 years old only a few weeks before she was discovered dead in a ditch a mile from her home. Cause of death: strangulation. Definitely a violent end, but forensics hadn’t been able to recover any foreign DNA from the vic’s wounds.

So there are no obvious leads yet, not even after Chloe and Lucifer’s interview with the deceased’s parents. Allison was doing well in school. She wasn’t involved with gangs or drugs and was single as far as her parents were aware. A case of mistaken identity, perhaps? A mugging gone horribly wrong?

“Cool shades, dude!”

Lucifer snaps his head up. Ms. Lopez is standing in front of him.

“Was it that dilation stuff the optometrist gives you? That stuff’s nasty. And it’s SO uncomfortable when they take a picture of your retina. And when they do that thing where they blow a puff of air in your eye. But it’s actually really cool because–”

“I didn’t go to the optometrist!” Lucifer snaps and Ms. Lopez shuts up, her eyes blown wide. Instantly, he feels guilty. “Why does everyone think that?” he adds, more quietly.

“Cuz you’re wearing shades indoors?” the forensic scientist asks rhetorically. She shrugs. “Hey, man, I get it. I know why you’re down. Don’t think I haven’t noticed.”

“Noticed what?” Lucifer asks suspiciously, his gut starting to writhe. He chances a glance down at his hands. Still covered with the gloves. His sleeves haven’t slipped.

“That you don’t do your devil schtick anymore! You didn’t get the part you wanted, did you? That really sucks, dude. I mean you changed your legal name and everything–”

“I didn’t change my name!” Lucifer seethes. He rises out of his chair, finger pointed, ready to do… something… when he stops, freezes in place.

 _She’s_ here.

He pivots on the balls of his feet, takes a graceful step back, and holds out the chair chivalrously. “Detective!” he cries. “Good morning.”

“Hi Lucifer. Ella,” Chloe says, taking the seat Lucifer is offering. She flicks her eyes up to him briefly in thanks and he can’t help the little balloon of joy that bursts in his heart. But then he frowns. She sounds tired. Even this early in the morning the Detective usually doesn’t sound this… defeated.

“Chloe, are you okay?” Ella asks, before Lucifer can.

“I’m fine,” she says, but her eyes are pinched. More of her hair is spilling out of her ponytail than usual. Lucifer longs to reach out and tuck it behind her ear. “Ella, I’m sorry. Is it okay if I talk to Lucifer alone for a minute?”

The bottom drops out of Lucifer’s world.

This is it. She’s had enough time to think it through, and now it’s time for The Talk. The one where she says _I’m sorry, but there’s just no room here for the prince of darkness. Please exit my life immediately._

“No problem,” says Ms. Lopez, skipping off to her lab.

Lucifer sinks like the Titanic into the empty chair of the adjacent desk.

“What is it, Detective?” he asks, monotone.

She turns to face him. “Yeah, Lucifer. I just–” she stops, squints. “Why are you wearing sunglasses indoors?”

Lucifer thinks that if he were human, he would be having a stroke right now. Or a heart attack. Definitely something catastrophic and potentially fatal. “What is it you want to talk to me about?” he repeats, ignoring her question completely.

Chloe looks like she wants to say something, her mouth screwing up a little. She blinks a few times and then sighs, forgetting about whatever it is. She looks down. “I talked to the victim’s friends at school yesterday.”

If the stroke didn’t kill him, the whiplash definitely will. This is about work. It’s safe. He’s fine. She’s fine. This is about work and everything is okay.

“You did?” he asks, and she looks up quickly. Oh, his voice was a couple octaves higher than usual.

“Yeah… you remember…? You had to sort some things out at Lux and there was no reason I couldn’t go alone.”

Lucifer nods, a little more vigorously than he normally would. He’s riding on waves of relief.

“Well, I found out something interesting. Allison, or A.J., rather, was trans. He came out a few months ago. In fact, he was planning to change his name legally after he turned 18. His friends told me they were going to have a party.”

Lucifer leans back in his chair. “Wait a minute…”

“Yeah, you see it, don’t you?”

Lucifer does see it. He can see it in his mind’s eye. Mrs. McKenzie, hysterical on the sofa, wailing that her baby is gone, her baby is gone. _A.J.!_ she cried. _I can’t believe it. This can’t be happening! It’s not possible_. And her husband, stony and stoic, sitting beside her. One hand rubbing circles in his wife’s back, the other clutching a family photo. _Allison_ , he said softly. _She was our eldest._

Lucifer cuts off the growl growing in his throat before it breaks free. “What are we waiting for, Detective?” he manages through clenched teeth.

“Nothing,” she replies.

They stand and head to the parking lot.


	3. Chapter 3

“We can’t just go in there guns blazing,” Chloe tells Lucifer as she weaves her police cruiser through the remains of LA rush hour.

“Detective, when have I _ever_ done that,” Lucifer says. Really, no one is better at rolling their eyes than Chloe Decker. Thrilled at her reaction, he can’t help but smirk and continue, “And, if I recall correctly, _you’re_ the one with the gun and the trigger-happy–”

“ANYWAY,” she interrupts. “What we have is a hunch. It’s unfortunately – very unfortunately – a well-supported hunch, but it’s still a hunch. We have a motivation, but no evidence. Circumstantial at best.”

“Right.” Lucifer nods.

“So, we need to either find a hole in his alibi or force a confession.”

“Yes.”

Chloe takes a sudden slowdown in traffic as an opportunity to cast a side-long glance at Lucifer. Lucifer doesn’t squirm. It’s just that the seats in these police cruisers are terribly uncomfortable, especially compared to his beloved Corvette. “Lucifer, why _are_ you wearing sunglasses?” she asks.

Really? _Really?_ They’re outdoors now. It’s perfectly socially acceptable to wear sunglasses outdoors. Lucifer’s sure of this. If there’s one thing he’s kept a firm pulse on over the millennia, it’s fashion.

“It’s bright outside,” he says. It’s true.

This doesn’t seem to satisfy the Detective. She just squints at him and wraps her fingers more firmly around the steering wheel.

“LA is known for its sun and hot weather,” he tries, like he’s reading from a guidebook. Should he say something else? _I mean, just look at the palm trees, Detective! You wear sunglasses all the time. And aren’t you_ _worried about eye health? UV exposure is nothing to sniff at, you know!_

A semi honks its horn behind them. Chloe blinks out of her reverie and focuses again on the cars in front of her, but not before her gaze sweeps briefly from Lucifer’s face to his gloved hands that rest in his lap.

Honestly, the upholstery in these vehicles is terrible. Perhaps he should make a donation to the LAPD so they can be updated? Maybe replace the awful coffee vending machine with a real coffee bar and a barista while he’s at it. They could put it where Daniel’s desk is. Daniel won’t mind. Lucifer will ask the new barista to stock his favorite pudding and…

“Lucifer, is this about…?” She doesn’t seem to know how to continue. She takes a deep breath. “If this is about… I mean…”

Lucifer’s heart leaps into his throat. Surely, she isn’t… The Detective wouldn’t break the deal, would she? And then a worse thought comes to him – perhaps he’s broken it already, and he hasn’t even noticed. After all, he hadn’t realized what had happened in the loft, otherwise he never would have stood up, never would have turned around…

As casually as he can, Lucifer leans right and checks his reflection in the car’s side mirror. He makes a point of running a hand through his hair, as if he’s just checking that his coif is still perfectly coiffed. It is, and his face is fine too. Except for the hellfire, of course, which he can feel as he keeps it carefully banked behind the shades.

Chloe sighs, the _never mind_ in her expression palpable. She takes the next exit ramp and just says “We’re almost there.”

And twenty minutes later, they’re entering Mr. McKenzie’s office. He’s an accountant. Lucifer takes a moment to sweep his eyes over the room. The back wall is covered in Eric McKenzie’s various accolades and qualifications. The side walls have pictures of his family. Lucifer notices that none of the photos look natural. They’re all staged – everyone has perfect nuclear family hair and nuclear family teeth. It’s as if the family only existed inside of a Sears photobooth.

His eyes travel to the desk. Nothing special. A succulent for a bit of color. Paperwork. And… a bobblehead. Of a man with a yellow toupee, orange skin, and a large, angry mouth.

Lucifer suddenly has to employ incredible self-restraint to not tear this man limb from limb right this instant. It’s either that or projectile vomit.

He settles on just lowering himself into the seat next to the Detective, facing Mr. McKenzie across the wasteland of his terrible, terrible desk.

“Mr. McKenzie,” Chloe begins. “You remember us from a few days ago? I’m Detective Decker and this is my partner –”

“Mr. Morningstar,” Mr. McKenzie interrupts and then mumbles something that sounds suspiciously like _Agent Smith weirdo_. “I remember who you are. So, Ms. Decker, do you have any updates on my daughter’s murder?” His eyes are cold.

“Actually, we’re here because we have a few more questions to ask. I’m sorry to take up more of your time and cause you any more pain.”

He licks his lips. “Fine. Ask.”

“I know you told us this before, but could you repeat where you were on the night of the murder, between 7 pm and midnight?”

“I told you. With the guys from my bowling team. We were at Steve’s having drinks. You can ask any of them.”

“Right. I see.” Chloe spares a quick glance at Lucifer. Lucifer nods, encouragingly. “Mr. McKenzie, were you aware that your son was transgender?”

“What?” The air in the room seems to chill a few degrees.

“Your son. He was transgender. He was assigned female at birth. Were you aware?”

Mr. McKenzie’s complexion changes. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, _Ms. Decker_. I have – had, two daughters. Bailey and… and… Allison.”

“Surely you must have known that A.J. was transgender. He already started hormone replacement therapy a few months ago, according to his friends and the school nurse. He was planning on changing his name–”

“LOOK!” Mr. McKenzie bellows. “I don’t know where you get off on slandering _my_ family, Ms. Decker. But my daughter was not some pervert or… or… some freak. She was wonderful. And beautiful. The perfect daughter.” He breathes heavily. “I don’t have to talk to you people. I want a lawy–”

“Mr. McKenzie,” Lucifer breaks in, his velvet tones and predatory smile already locked and loaded. His turn, now.

This is the part of the job he can do, no reprisals. It’s part of the deal they never talked about. He was drawing out people’s desires in front of the Detective’s eyes long before… well, before. This part of himself he is allowed. It doesn’t ‘count’ so to speak.

Mr. McKenzie turns to face him and Lucifer instantly realizes his mistake. His ability requires eye contact and Mr. McKenzie can’t see his eyes through the shades. But he can’t take them off. The Detective is right there. The Detective is right there and if he takes them off she’ll _see_ and then… and then…

He freezes. He’s not sure for how long but it’s enough for the Detective to blink at him in confusion and Mr. McKenzie to stare at him like he’s one banana short of a bunch.

Mr. McKenzie grumbles and stands up. “You two need to leave immediately. Take your libel somewhere else. And if we _ever_ speak again it will be through legal representation. Have a nice day.”

And then Chloe and Lucifer are out on the sidewalk outside of the office building.

The Detective turns to look at him. Cold fury is in her eyes.

“We need to talk. Right. Now.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow! I can't believe the response to this. This is my first published fanfic since high school, which was, hooboy, almost five years ago. I'm going to reply to all the comments now!


	4. Chapter 4

Chloe drags Lucifer by his jacket sleeve into the service alley behind the office building.

Lucifer isn’t sure how to feel about this sudden turn of events. On the one hand, the Detective’s eyes are flashing with anger, directed at him most likely, and her ire when directed is volcanic. But on the other, this might be the first time she’s willingly touched him since… since…

She lets go and even with his vastly superior strength, Lucifer stumbles a little into the alley wall. Chloe turns to face him.

“What the _hell_ is going on?” she asks, crossing her arms.

Well isn’t that question apropos.

“What happened back there?” she continues, when Lucifer just stares at her.

“I… I don’t…” But he stops, because he can’t say that he doesn’t know. That would be a lie. He knows exactly what happened in that contemptible office.

“Look, Lucifer, I know we haven’t exactly been communicating well these past few weeks but we’re still partners. If something is going on with you that’s going to affect our work you need to let me–” she cuts herself off with a short, frustrated sigh. “Ugh, damnit Lucifer, are you listening to me? I can’t talk to you with those goddamn sunglasses on!”

And then Lucifer sees her hand reach up, up, up as if in slow motion. He can’t stop her. He can only watch in paralyzed horror as her fingers grip the glasses frame and pull back…

He slams his eyes shut.

“There,” he hears her say. “Now we can actually – wait, what? Lucifer, what are you doing?”

Lucifer takes a shuddering breath in an attempt to calm himself. “I think you should go, Detective,” he says in a low, unsteady voice. “I’m… there is… something wrong… I should have called in sick. I’m sorry. You should go back to the precinct. I’ll just, uh…”

He hears only silence. Did she listen to him? Has she left? He doesn’t dare crack an eye to check. Not yet. But then: “Something’s wrong? Lucifer, are you sick? I didn’t think you could… I mean…” Another beat of silence. Lucifer stands absolutely still. “Lucifer, open your eyes.”

No.

“Lucifer, _please_ open your eyes.”

_No._

“I… I can’t.”

“Yes you can. I thought we were… I thought…”

“Detective, I _can’t_.” And he really can’t. Doing so would break the deal.

But then the unthinkable happens. The Detective makes a small, choked sound, like a little sob. Oh no… he hasn’t made her cry again, has he? The last time he made her cry he had royally screwed everything up. Has he screwed up that badly again? Bloody hell, of course he has. That’s all he’s capable of doing. He comes into people’s lives and causes suffering and torment. It’s in the job description. It’s ingrained and indelible in the core of his being. The Devil causes pain. It’s what he’s _for_.

Slowly, he opens his eyes. She’s not even looking at him. Her beautiful features are screwed tight and a single tear track wends its way down her cheek. He reaches out with a gloved hand and gently wipes it away. Her own hand flies up to grasp at his.

Their eyes meet.

Instantly, Lucifer pulls his hand from beneath hers and draws back. Surely, even with gloves she doesn’t want him touching her now. “I’m sorry,” he breathes.

She doesn’t say anything, just stares at him with wide, wide eyes. Schrodinger’s cat is visible now, there for all the world to see. But Lucifer can’t tell a dead cat from a live one. He’s never been good at that.

The Detective just continues to stare. Lucifer feels his denial implode under the weight of her silence. “I can’t… I can’t make it go away. I’ve tried. I swear I’ve tried everything…” He had even, embarrassingly, given himself his own pep talk in the privacy of his bathroom. _You’re not a monster. You’re NOT a monster,_ he told his reflection, but his reflection didn’t seem to hear. The ruined skin just continued to creep over his wrists. “ _I_ control what I look like. That’s how it works. But there’s something wrong. I can’t… I just can’t…”

She finally responds by gently taking his hands in hers. And then she’s tugging on the gloves, pulling them away to reveal the red, charred monstrosities that are his hands. But she doesn’t stop there. Slowly, methodically, she unbuttons his cuffs and slides his jacket and shirtsleeves back, revealing his forearms. The leathery skin reaches all the way up to just below his elbow, where there is a dizzying shimmer, and then pale, perfect skin beyond.

“You’ve been… hiding… this?” the Detective asks, haltingly. He can see in her calculating gaze that she’s made the connection between his appearance now and the terrifying creature she saw briefly all those weeks ago in the loft, surrounded by bodies and bloodied feathers.

Lucifer swallows. “I’m sorry. I know you didn’t want…” But he stops himself. Because he really doesn’t know what she wants. It’s sort of the defining feature of their relationship. With anyone else, he could just ask. But with her… “You don’t deserve this.” That, he knows for sure.

She snaps her eyes up to meet his. He can feel her wrap her perfect hands around his destroyed ones, but he can’t dwell on that, he can only focus on her soft, blue gaze. He can feel the fire snap unchecked behind his own irises, yellow and orange and deep, flaming red.

The Detective huffs. It’s almost like a laugh, but that’s impossible. Her mouth twists into a watery smile. “You have a lot of opinions about that, don’t you? So, what do I deserve?”

The last time the Detective asked him that, Lucifer’s world fell apart. Now, of course, he has the advantage that his world has already fallen apart. It lies cracked and broken at his feet.

“I’ll leave. I’ll leave right away,” he says. “I can’t make it go away and I… I can’t work like this, obviously. And you should _never_ have had to… to see…” Of course, he’ll have to take the more painful route back to Hell, as he can’t use his wings anymore, but the Detective doesn’t need to know that.

And then the air gets knocked out of him. What just…? The Detective is… _hugging_ him, of all things. Her arms are wrapped around his waist and her face is buried in his shoulder. Lucifer stands frozen. He doesn't dare return the gesture. That’s it. He’s lost it. Or she’s lost it, or something. Surely at least one of them has gone crazy. “Detective…?” Lucifer asks, quietly. No response. “Chloe…?”

“YOU. Are. Not going anywhere. Mister.” The anger is back in her voice, cold and furious. But it quickly collapses and she gives a weak laugh. “This is all my fault, isn’t it? Lucifer, I’m so sorry.”

She’s definitely the crazy one. What on Earth does she have to be sorry about? “I don’t understand,” he says, because he doesn’t.

She raises her head from his shoulder and looks him in the eye again. It hits him, suddenly, that she’s been doing that this whole time, and she hasn’t recoiled. He can’t detect any fear in her warm gaze. Something small and fragile flickers inside him. Not fire, something softer.

“You, Lucifer Morningstar, are an idiot,” she says. Well, he can’t argue with that. “But so am I.” He definitely CAN argue with _that_. The Detective is smart and clever and beautiful and everything wonderful in the world. He opens his mouth to tell her just that, but he’s stopped by her raised eyebrow.

“I guess that means we deserve each other.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Whistle for the Choir" by the Fratellis. Good Lucifer/Chloe song, that.


	5. Chapter 5

Somewhere along the way they both lost the ability to stand, so now they sit next to each other, their backs leaning against the service alley’s brick wall.

Chloe is still holding Lucifer’s hand. He looks down and studies them. The way her thumb absently strokes his. The violent contrast between her pale, white skin and the ashy, scorched remains of his own.

“I _was_ scared at first,” Chloe begins. Lucifer wants to twitch away at this, wants to feel affronted, but he can’t seem to tear his focus away from the feeling of her hand in his. “It was easier, in the beginning, to pretend like nothing had happened.” She turns to look at him. “I was an _atheist_ , Lucifer. Agnostic at best.” Her eyes are asking him to understand.

He nods.

“It was… a lot. You’re real. So that means God’s real. Heaven and Hell. Angels and demons.”

“It’s all true,” he quotes, remembering her choked words from the loft, right before he disappeared.

“It is, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” he sighs.

“I started seeing Linda.”

“You did?!” he asks, astonished.

“Yeah. She didn’t agree, but I asked her not to tell you. At first because I was scared, but after a while… I didn’t want to offend you.” At Lucifer’s confused expression, she explains, “I didn’t want you to think your mere presence in my life was therapy-worthy.”

Lucifer thinks back to his own recent sessions with Linda. Had she mentioned anything that might have clued him in to this? The doctor’s advice was always confusing at the best of times, at least to him, so he quickly gives up.

“But Detective, _I_ go to therapy. And I’m in my life all the time! Surely that proves it. I wouldn’t – I’m not offended.”

Chloe can’t help it. She laughs. “I know. And I’ve been talking to Maze, and Ella, even.” That’s easier to believe. He and Maze haven’t exactly been getting along recently. The few encounters they have had have been short and tense.

“Oh, really?” he asks.

“Yeah. Maze has been telling me all about the supernatural adventures you guys have been having behind my back all this time. I want to hear those stories from you, too, though,” she says, sticking a finger in his chest. “I’m pretty sure Maze is biased. And I think she exaggerates. You guys don’t get into kung fu and knife fights every day, do you?”

“Well not _every_ day.” They both grin. “So Mazikeen is still living with you?”

“Yeah. It took a while, but she and Trixie made up eventually. There was a lot of chocolate cake involved.”

The Detective then leans her head over so that it rests against Lucifer’s shoulder. Lucifer stops breathing for a moment, and then settles, reveling in the feeling of the weight of her against him.

“Ella’s been catching me up on the more – historical? – side of things. It’s different, though. She believes. I _know_.” She blinks. “I think she thinks I’m converting? I mean, I guess I have. She wants me to go to mass.”

“Ugh, don’t. It’s dreadfully boring.”

Chloe huffs a laugh. “Yeah, I bet. And they probably get everything wrong, don’t they?”

Lucifer stares ahead. “Not everything.”

They’re silent for a few minutes.

“I’m sorry, Lucifer. I’ve been selfish keeping this from you. But you never said anything, you know? I thought maybe… you weren’t ready to talk about it either. And it was just easy to slip back into old ways. To pretend you’re just some wackjob with a funny name and too much ego.”

“I can’t guarantee I’m not those things,” Lucifer says, and Chloe snorts. And then he realizes… “You had your eggs,” he says, slowly, as understanding dawns.

“Yeah. I thought I could keep them, the way I always have, at least for a little while.”

Lucifer looks down at their hands again. He doesn’t know how the Detective can touch his red, blistered skin so thoughtlessly, like it’s the most natural action in the world.

He swallows. “I think those eggs might be… broken now. Or… they’ve gone bad?”

Chloe ponders this, following Lucifer’s gaze. “Or maybe… they’ve hatched?”

Lucifer looks at Chloe, eyes wide. They stare at each other. And then they’re laughing, so hard that Chloe slaps at Lucifer’s thigh, while he wipes away tears that have sprung into his eyes. They continue like this for a while, until their laughter dissolves into sniggers, and then they’re breathing hard, looking at each other.

Chloe sobers. She takes up Lucifer’s hand again, but instead of holding it she just lets his closed fist rest in her palm. “I’m sorry I made you think you had to hide this. You don’t, you know? You get that right? You don’t need to hide. Not anymore. Not from me.”

 _Not to me_. It echoes in his head. Lucifer blinks.

The Detective startles suddenly, as if something surprised her. She gathers her wits quickly, though. “Does it hurt?” she asks, gesturing at his hands.

“No,” he says. “Not anymore.”

“That’s good,” she breathes, relieved. “You said… you control it? But you can’t make it go away. How does that work?”

Lucifer shrugs. “I don’t know. The mechanics of the whole thing are rather… impenetrable.”

“Well, I’ll help you figure it out,” Chloe says. And with that, Lucifer’s world starts piecing itself back together. It’s a fragile thing, held together with duct tape and glue, but it’s there, on its axis and spinning.

Slowly, they stand. Chloe hands Lucifer’s gloves and shades back to him.

“He did it, you know,” says Lucifer, tilting his head towards the office building. “I’m sure of it.”

“I think you’re right,” says Chloe. “I’d like to get a warrant for his arrest, so we can hold him for more than 24 hours, but that requires evidence of probable cause. And he’ll be even harder to touch now that he’s lawyered up.”

Lucifer looks to the side. “I could, maybe… call in a favor.” Lucifer hasn’t done favors for _everyone_ in the Los Angeles justice system, but, well, he gets around.

Chloe looks up at him. “You would do that for me?”

“Of course.” There’s very little he wouldn’t do. For her.

He starts to put the gloves back on. Chloe helps him button his cuffs in place. Finally, he flicks out the earpieces of the sunglasses and prepares to put them on, but pauses when Chloe places a hand over his, stopping him.

“Wait,” she says. She pulls the glasses from him and flips them around. She holds them up so he can see his reflection in the dark lenses.

His eyes are dark brown. No hellfire to be seen.

“Oh,” he says, softly.

“Guess you don’t need these anymore,” she says, grinning. She folds the shades and then stuffs them neatly into his breast pocket.

Lucifer matches her grin with a heart-stopping one of his own. “I guess not.”


	6. Chapter 6

Lucifer is normally very comfortable being naked.

Nevertheless, he is starting to feel great empathy for the average prude. Walking around the precinct is… nerve-wracking, to say the least. After his conversation with the Detective a few days ago (And that is a topic his mind can’t help but leap to every five minutes, with accompanying overtones of joy, overwhelming relief, and a creeping anxiety he doesn’t yet understand) his eyes have remained their wonderfully dull brown.

Standing in the mirror every morning feels like ripping a band aid. What part of his body will be hideously disfigured today? Spin the wheel to find out. His face, at least, has remained blissfully human, but he still keeps the shades tucked in his breast pocket. Just in case.

His arms are a different story. Whatever magic the Detective worked on his eyes did not make an effect there. The glamour has now retreated over halfway up his upper arms. Soon the broken red skin will begin to cover his neck and chest. Lucifer sees a future filled with scarves and turtleneck sweaters ahead of him, and grimaces.

He finds himself checking his appearance in every reflective surface he comes across. Just in case something slipped without his noticing. The Detective has made it clear that she doesn’t mind what he looks like (Shock. Joy. Disbelief. Gratitude.) but Lucifer doesn’t want to offend the sensibilities of anyone else working in the police station, a great many of whom he has come to respect.

Currently he is holding the Detective’s shiny nameplate about three inches in front of his eyes, squinting to check that there isn’t even a spark of hellfire hidden in their depths.

“So when’s your next optometry appointment?” asks Daniel from behind, causing Lucifer to jump out of his skin and ungracefully drop the nameplate back onto the Detective’s desk. “Looks like you really need it if things have gotten this bad.”

Lucifer whirls around. “I’m NOT getting glasses!” he blurts, less intimidating than he had hoped.

“Contacts, then? Hey man, I’m not judging. I think you’d look good in glasses.”

Lucifer is preparing a truly scathing retort when he’s interrupted by the Detective appearing at his side. She taps the case file she’s holding lightly against his arm.

“Lucifer, they’re ready for us,” she says.

Huffing, Lucifer simply straightens the lines of his jacket and turns to follow the Detective towards the interrogation room, leaving a thoroughly baffled Daniel behind.

It wasn’t strictly necessary to keep Mr. McKenzie overnight in a jail cell, but when Lucifer’s favor came through, well, Chloe wasn’t going to complain. It gave them some extra time to make further inquiries without fear of Mr. McKenzie skipping town. And Chloe doesn’t _dislike_ the idea of making the man squirm.

Mr. McKenzie is a big man, and he sits slumped backwards in his chair with his arms crossed as Chloe and Lucifer enter the interrogation room. The man sitting next to him is half his size and half his age, with cropped blonde hair and a severe expression. The lawyer, presumably.

Lucifer takes a moment to check his reflection in the one-way mirror. Smiling sadly, Chloe touches his shoulder and tells him quietly, “You’re fine.” He turns to her and blinks, before nodding and taking his place at her side.

As soon as Chloe and Lucifer are both seated the lawyer speaks. “Any and all questions you have for my client will go through me. My client will not engage verbally with either of you.” Mr. McKenzie stares at them with beady eyes. He looks smug. The lawyer continues, “And I’d like to point out that no matter who signed off on that warrant you somehow acquired, it was bogus. You have no evidence against my client. Anything you do have won’t stand up in a court of law. My client is leaving this station today, immediately after we’ve finished with this farce.”

Chloe doesn’t rise. She just sets the case file in front of her and opens it up. She pulls out several sheets of paper. “Mr. McKenzie,” she says, ignoring the lawyer completely. “My partner and I were able to gather witness testimony from the members of your bowling team who were at Mr. Harrington’s house party on the night of the murder.” She fixes Mr. McKenzie with a stare. “Several witnesses told us you left the party early and went home. This is in direct conflict with some of your previous statements. You told us you stayed at the party the entire time. Care to comment?”

The lawyer pulls Mr. McKenzie aside and for a few moments they whisper unintelligibly at each other. Then they lean forwards again. “My client makes no comment,” the lawyer says. “Although I would like to mention that there was alcohol present at that party, and drunk testimony is as good as inadmissible.”

Chloe says nothing. She purses her lips and casually picks up some of the papers from the case file. She smacks them on the table edge, leveling them out. Smack, smack, smack.

“You know,” she says finally, after a pregnant pause. “My partner and I were… interrupted the last time we spoke to you, Mr. McKenzie. Wouldn’t you say so, Lucifer?”

“Oh, yes. I did want to ask the man a _question_ ,” Lucifer purrs. He leans back in his chair as far as it will go and steeples his hands in front of him, all while keeping direct eye contact with Mr. McKenzie. “Unfortunately we had some… technical difficulties, so to speak.” Mr. McKenzie’s smug expression slips a little bit, but he quickly schools himself.

Lucifer jerks forward suddenly to rest his arms on the table. Mr. McKenzie and his lawyer flinch back. “What do you desire?” he asks, pushing his relentless, unblinking stare onto the man in front of him. “Hmm? What do you want, more than anything else on this Earth?”

Lucifer’s grin shifts from predatory to terrifying. He lets his influence creep over Mr. McKenzie like hands grabbing at ankles from beneath the bed at night. Mr. McKenzie, as it turns out, is very weak-willed.

“I want to be respected!” exclaims Mr. McKenzie, his eyes glassy. The lawyer grabs his client’s arm with an urgent “Sir!” but Mr. McKenzie ignores him.

“Of course you do,” Lucifer says, smooth as silk. “We all want to be respected. By our friends… our family…” His voice drops dangerously.

“She was disrespecting me!” It’s as if a tap has opened and Mr. McKenzie can’t confess fast enough. “I thought it was just a phase. The drugs were one thing… She would have realized what they were doing to her and stopped eventually. But then she wanted to change her name… Allison. My mother’s name. _My_ name. She wanted to cut me out of her life, like I was _nothing_. Like I didn’t raise her, like I didn’t make her what she was, the ungrateful bitch.”

The lawyer is now in a full-blown panic. He shakes Mr. McKenzie’s shoulder yelling “Sir! Stop!” but to no avail.

Lucifer’s eyes are cool obsidian. His lips curl as he asks, “So you killed your own child?”

“Yes! She wanted to throw away everything I gave her. Her looks, her status, her hair, her name. What would people think of me, huh? They’d think I was stupid and weak for raising some freak for a daughter!”

“I think that’s enough, Detective,” Lucifer says quietly, breaking eye contact and his influence over Mr. McKenzie to look at Chloe.

The room is silent for several moments. The lawyer wrings his hands in desperation. Mr. McKenzie breathes hard, his face crimson, a little spit caught at the corner of his mouth.

Chloe’s eyes are wet. When she speaks her voice is warbly, thick with grief, but it gets stronger as she continues. “Your son wasn’t a freak, Mr. McKenzie. He was his own person. He was only just starting to discover who he was, when you took that opportunity from him. Permanently.” Mr. McKenzie says nothing. He wipes the spit from his mouth. “We can’t choose who we are born as. We can’t choose what happens to us. We can only choose what actions we take in the face of those circumstances. That’s what makes us who we are. Your son was a good person, Mr. McKenzie, and he deserved to be loved for who he was.”

She collects her papers and stands to leave as officers file into the room to take Mr. McKenzie away. Lucifer follows suit. Quietly, he takes her hand in his. The gloves separate them by only a thin layer of fabric, but it feels like a canyon of distance between them. It’s all he can offer her for now.

Before they exit the room, Chloe turns to look at Mr. McKenzie one last time. “I hope Mrs. McKenzie and Bailey will be able to find peace, far away from you. Your daughter deserves unconditional love. And, as a parent, if you couldn’t find it within yourself to love your children unconditionally, then _you should have never been a parent to begin with_.”

They leave Mr. McKenzie to his fate.


	7. Chapter 7

The Detective grew quiet over the rest of the day, drawing inwards like a turtle into its shell. Lucifer flitted around her, desperate to find some solution to her depression but having no idea where to start. He hates seeing her unhappy. Eventually he left the precinct, certain that something, somewhere in the great city of Los Angeles would provide the solution to his Detective’s malaise.

He returns an hour later with a paper bag filled with lemon bars.

Ella catches him as he trots down the stairs onto the precinct floor and draws him aside.

“Hey,” she says. “I just wanted to say I’m sorry. This was a really rough one, wasn’t it? Chloe’s not taking it well.”

“Yes,” says Lucifer, thinking of the Detective’s pinched brow and vacant stare in the aftermath of the interrogation.

“Yeah, I mean the vic was just a kid. Barely 18. I bet she’s thinking about Trixie.”

Oh.

“…Yes. Of course,” he says quietly. He looks at the paper bag. Lemon bars suddenly seem woefully inadequate.

Ella gives him a small smile. “Are those for her? That’s nice. I’m sure she’ll like them.” Lucifer isn’t so sure. Then she frowns. “I can’t believe people like that guy exist. I hope he goes away for a long, long time. Or, you know, forever.”

“It’s times like this I wish I still ran Hell,” Lucifer agrees. “If he came my way I’d have plenty of fun activities scheduled.”

Ella looks at him agog for a moment before her face breaks into a wide smile. “What?” Lucifer asks, confused.

“Nothing,” Ella says, grinning. “It’s just… it’s good to have you back, dude.” Then she takes him by the shoulders, turns him around, and gives him a very unsubtle shove towards the Detective’s desk. “Go be with Chloe,” she says. “She needs you.”

“I… yes…” Lucifer replies, dazed, before heeding the forensic scientist’s advice and striding away towards the Detective in question.

She’s leaning over a stack of paperwork, her forehead held in both hands. Lucifer drops the lemon bars on the edge of her desk. “For you,” he says.

Chloe startles. She looks up quickly, taking in Lucifer and his proffered gift. She gives him a weak smile. “Thanks, Lucifer,” she says, absently picking up a lemon bar before returning to her work.

Lucifer takes one as well and then settles into a chair beside her. He doesn’t know what to do, except… what did Ms. Lopez say? Be with her. Well, he’s with her, but he’s not sure what it’s supposed to accomplish. He feels awkward just sitting there, so he pulls out his copy of this month’s GQ from his jacket’s inside pocket and opens it to read.

The precinct is quiet now. Most people have gone home and the lights are dimmed. Lucifer and Chloe sit in companionable silence.

Chloe’s pen stills. “He’ll go to Hell, won’t he?” she asks, her voice soft.

Lucifer looks up from his magazine. “What’s that?”

“Eric McKenzie. He’ll go to Hell, right? Eventually.”

Lucifer puts the magazine down. “You’re asking me how the system works?”

“I guess so.”

“Maze hasn’t told you?”

“We didn’t get that far.”

Lucifer leans back in his chair and purses his lips. Then he sighs heavily. “I’d say it’s likely.”

“Likely? You don’t know for sure?”

He fixes her with a stare. “Humans are entitled creatures.” He smiles a little. “You always get what you want. You choose the path you take in life. Then you choose where you go afterwards and what happens to you when you get there.”

“So, what? You just think ‘I’m not going to Hell! Not today, Satan!’ and then you won’t?”

Lucifer tilts his head. “It’s not that simple. Some things get… heightened when you die. And some things are dulled. Those souls that carry heavy guilt usually recognize it within themselves, and then they punish themselves accordingly.”

“So if Eric McKenzie feels bad enough about killing his son, he’ll go to Hell?”

“Essentially.”

“What about psychopaths? People who don’t feel guilt? They just get a free pass to Heaven? And what about people who make themselves feel guilty about things they shouldn’t feel guilty about? They’re just stuck in Hell forever?”

“It’s not a perfect system.”

“You’re telling me.”

Lucifer narrows his eyes. “And the justice system here on Earth is so flawless?”

Chloe sighs and looks down. “Touché.”

Lucifer picks up his magazine again and flicks through the pages absently. “Anyway, that’s what the angels and demons and me, formerly, are for. They generally make sure each soul is treated fairly and receives its just desserts.”

Chloe nods, assimilating this new knowledge into her worldview. “I see.” She returns to the form she’s working on.

As the evening stretches on Lucifer finds that he can’t focus on any of the gorgeous men in his magazine, or on the text describing their dapper eveningwear. He feels tired and happy after the events of the past few days, but mostly he’s just overwhelmed. That the Detective has accepted him, infernal nature and all – he’s thrilled beyond words. But that creeping anxiety he felt earlier has now grown into a full-blown crescendo of nerves. He barely knows how to act around the Detective now. They’re in uncharted waters, with no map and no compass. No status quo to fall back upon.

And then there is the small matter of his worsening physical appearance…

“I used to have a different name,” he blurts. It’s not what he meant to say, but it’s out there now, a piece of himself offered freely for her to take and crush if she so desires.

Chloe looks at him blankly. “Okay.”

Lucifer squirms. Really, properly, squirms. The chair has nothing to do with it. “Just… okay? You don’t want to know what it was?”

“Do you want to tell me?”

“Not really.”

“Then no.”

He’s on the edge of a cliff. He’s blind and he’s on the edge of a cliff, taking tentative steps forward. There is void all around him and if he makes a wrong move he’ll fall, fall, fall.

“Samael,” he says, the name squeaking out. “It was Samael. ‘Poison of God,’ you know. Or ‘Venom.’ Depends on the, uh, translation. ‘Lightbringer,’ also, er. I have a lot of names,” he finishes on a rush.

Chloe turns to face him fully, a small smile gracing her delicate features. “You said ‘Old Scratch’ was your favorite.”

“I’m fond of that one, yes,” he says lightly, and then he crumbles. “Did you mean what you said?”

“What do you mean?”

“What you said. Earlier today, in the interrogation room. About deserving to be loved for… for who you are. For your actions. Not for what you’re made to be, uh… I mean, what you’re born as. Did you mean it?”

Chloe looks at Lucifer for a long time. Then she tucks a wayward strand of golden hair behind her ear and smiles. She chuckles a little. Lucifer feels his insides clench at the soft noise. Is she laughing at him? Of course she is. It was a stupid question. He’s being stupid. On the other hand, she’s smiling. That’s good, isn’t it? He wants her to be happy. “Detective?” he asks, tentatively. “What is it?”

“Nothing,” she says, as her mirth finally abates. “I’m just surprised it took this long for you to make a case all about you.”

“Detective?” He’s so confused.

“Listen, Lucifer…” She takes his gloved hands in hers. Lucifer aches to touch her for real. But he can’t. They’re in public, and the devil himself lies beneath the dark fabric. “Do you remember…? Back before all of this… before Charlotte, and Pierce, and… and all of it. Back before I was a stubborn idiot for _way_ too long…”

“Detective, you weren’t–”

“Do you remember when we kissed?”

He does remember. He remembers in excruciating, technicolor detail. The soft pull of her lips against his. The way she held him against her, like he was _hers_ to do with what she willed. And he would let her. He would always let her. And then the moment was gone, far too early. “Yes,” he breathes.

She rubs his palms with her thumbs, a circular motion. “You’re not poison, Lucifer.”

“Detective–”

“You’re _not_. You may be narcissistic, and childish, and egotistical, and hyperactive…”

Lucifer wants to interrupt, wants to quip _Not exactly singing my praises, Detective_ , but he can’t. His mouth is dry and his tongue is lead.

“But you’re my partner. You’re my _friend_. And you’ve had my back since day one. And you absolutely deserve to be loved. Because I do. Love you, that is.”

Lucifer’s heart cracks open.

“Chloe…”

She smiles softly… and then his heartrate skyrockets as she tugs on the gloves, pulling them away. What is she doing?! Someone will see! He can’t let anyone see–

“Lucifer, look,” she says, and he stills beneath her.

Lucifer looks down at his hands. They’re still red but… fading. The change isn’t instantaneous like usual, but gradual. Like sunlight melting snow. They watch together as his skin passes through shades of red, shades of pink…

Chloe laces their fingers together. Her touch is warm and perfect. Perfect because she’s _her_ …

“Now,” she says. “Where were we?”

She draws him to her and he goes willingly.

And then the world shrinks until it’s just them, together in a state of grace.

\- The End -

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case it wasn’t clear, to make his devil form go away, Lucifer had to overcome two mental blocks in the reverse order that he stumbled upon them:
> 
> 1\. He thinks he doesn’t deserve to be loved. Specifically, he doesn’t think he deserves Chloe’s love. Why? Because he’s a monster.  
> 2\. He thinks he needs to hide his devil side from Chloe. Why? Because that side of him is monstrous. (This one’s a real kicker. As one commenter said, it’s a self-fulfilling prophecy.)
> 
> So that’s why Lucifer couldn’t just stand in front of a mirror and tell himself he’s not a monster. He had to overcome these underlying issues that both bring out his devil side if he believes in them. The second one is resolved after Chloe tells him he doesn’t need to hide from her. The first is resolved after Chloe’s impassioned speech about loving unconditionally.
> 
> So this is it, my first fanfic since… 1000 words for Doctor Who back in 2013. And then I banged this thing out in less than a week. Lucifer’s a hell of a drug, I tell ya. It’s on Netflix now. Go watch it. We need the numbers if we want season 5.
> 
> Thank you for reading!


End file.
